


Vibrations

by celestialwarden



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Angst, BAMF TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Injury, Character Development, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Family Dynamics, Hybrids, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Panic Attacks, Protective TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Psychological Trauma, Runaway TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Running Away, Self-Harm, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit is Not Okay (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialwarden/pseuds/celestialwarden
Summary: Dream, Tommy decided, was a dickhead- and Tommy didn't listen to dickheads anymore. Not after Wilbur and his promises of grandeur, not after Schlatt and his stupid fucking decree, and especially not after Technoblade and his egotistical stories.So instead of jumping off his tower and watching his brains go splat on the ground by Logstedshire, Tommy let himself fall into the water.Or,Tommy runs away during exile and finds a place and people to help him heal. Set over a span of four years.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 389





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the tags for Trigger Warnings, please be safe, people! If anyone of the CC's say they don't want fanfictions of them, this will be removed! I kept everything within the boundaries they've stated so far. Hope you enjoy :)

Dream, Tommy decided, was a dickhead- and Tommy didn't listen to dickheads anymore. Not after Wilbur and his promises of grandeur, not after Schlatt and his stupid fucking decree, and especially not after Technoblade and his egotistical stories.

So instead of jumping off his tower and watching his brains go splat on the ground by Logstedshire, Tommy let himself fall into the water.

Dream was a dickhead, a dickhead who kept blowing up his stuff, and Tommy was fucking sick of it. So, he left. 

And now, Tommy was wandering through a forest with barely any sunlight poking through the trees wishing he had stepped off the other side of that godforsaken tower.

In hindsight, Tommy thought as he tripped on a tree root, it might have been smart to stay in Logstedshire for a bit. Dream said he wasn't coming back for a week, Tommy could have planned and prepared his escape. But no, he just had to be dramatic and stomp off into the horizon with nothing but a jukebox and six torches.

Tommy registered the sound of a bow being drawn behind him, and his body turned into panic mode. Cursing under his breath, he ducked behind a tree and watched an arrow fly by his face. Shit. Shit. Had Dream come back and followed him? Or was it Technoblade finishing the job Tommy had been too scared to go through with?

The bow was drawn again, and Tommy hated how his brain tried to bring him back to the prime path where he'd lost his second life. If his survival instincts weren't honed by multiple wars, he might have let himself get lost in the flashback, but Tommy was too used to shoving his panic away in the face of danger.

What did he have on him? His inventory was practically empty thanks to respawning in a crater. He could use the torches to burn his opponent in a pinch…

Another arrow flew by, this one closer than the last, and Tommy could see where it embedded itself into a tree trunk.

Bingo. Whoever was attacking him wasn't a good shot, or they were giving him a warning and didn't expect him to fight back.

Tommy sucked in a breath and lunged for the arrow. With a tug, he ripped out the point and whirled around, already swinging at his attacker. As easy as breathing, Tommy shoved the arrowhead into a ribcage before he could even see who had shot at him. 

The skeleton in front of him turned to a pile of bones once Tommy had the coherence to pull the arrow out of its sternum. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, and for what, a measly skeleton? Tommy missed the days where he wore netherite armor and could ignore the annoying mobs that plagued the dark. He shivered and pushed Dream's words out of his mind. No time for panic.

Tommy grabbed the largest of the bones and the skeleton’s bow. If the mob had managed to spawn, it meant the sun was going down, and Tommy was about to run into a few more monsters. He considered stopping and building a shelter for the night, but his skin itched just thinking about it. The further from Logstedshire, the better.

Checking the coordinates on his communicator, Tommy pointed himself away from Lmanburg. He briefly considered trying to find Techno’s “hidden” cabin in the tundra, but he quickly pushed the thought away. Techno might have retired from his thirst for blood, but it didn’t mean he would even consider helping Tommy. The best he would get would be a monotone laugh and a door in his face, and the worst would be a visit from Dream to take him back to Logstedshire. Tommy shivered. No way in hell was he going back to that place; they’d have to drag his dead body.

Without shoes or armor on, Tommy’s steps were quiet enough to escape notice from most of the mobs. He knew, however, that a zombie could smell him from hundreds of feet away, and a fight would attract others. So, he creeped through the brush at an agonizingly slow rate.

A bat flew through the leaves overhead, startling Tommy. He’d been on edge for hours, and it felt like he was a fly trapped in honey. Furiously beating his wings, never further than where he started.

With a deep breath, Tommy shoved the riding panic down as best he could, storing the pressure somewhere behind a sternum. He’d deal with it later. For now, he took his steps through the forest one at a time. The grass was cold under his bare feet, but he’d take it over the burn of obsidian in the nether any day.

A tiny ray of moonlight hit the ground of front of him, illuminating a few mushrooms growing by a tree trunk. Tommy glanced up and noticed a few other patches in the canopy. Praying it wasn’t just a clearing, Tommy moved on.

Someone above must have been looking out for him. Tommy stepped out from under the last line of trees onto a barren plain. Somehow, he got through that whole forest without dying. Glancing back at the trees, Tommy noticed they’d grown much thicker and closer together than what he’d seen in the daylight. In fact, if he squinted, he could see the tops of giant mushrooms in the distance. A dark forest.

Tommy elected to completely ignore how close he was to death for the past few hours and instead focused on the terrain ahead of him. Thankfully, it was a grassy plain barren of any trees, and the sun was starting to come up. With some luck, he could avoid the first few mobs in his path and let the rest burn.

Tommy crouched in the grass, letting it cover his whole body, and started to crawl through the stalks. There were no more trees to catch the wind, and Tommy felt himself start to shiver from the cold. Whatever. He’d just have to suck it up and find a coat later.

Time seemed to blend together. A spider on his right. Pause. Coast clear. Keep going. A creeper ahead. Make your way around. Rest. A zombie behind. Let it burn.

Once the sunlight had cleared away the mobs it could, Tommy stood shakily and stretched out his legs. He was going to be so sore tomorrow. 

Tomorrow.

The thought seemed a little impossible. He could go anywhere, do anything. If he wanted to sleep away tomorrow, the only thing stopping him would be a hungry stomach, and Tommy had learned to ignore the hunger pains. There were no more vice president duties, no more weapons to craft for war, no more people to put up with.

For the first time since leaving, his mind drifted to Tubbo. Tommy knew there was a compass shoved deep in his inventory, hidden somewhere underneath a stack of planks. He knew if he wanted to go home, he had an arrow pointing directly to it. But Tubbo had exiled him, and if leaving was the best thing Tommy could do for his country, goddammit he was going to be the best at it. Fuck Schlatt, fuck Dream, fuck Tubbo. He was leaving and never, ever coming back.

With the warm sun on his arms again, Tommy set off at a brisk pace. Hopefully he could find a village before dark, or he would have to set up a temporary base. How long had it been since he’d slept? But a base would leave tracks, and villagers would talk, and Dream would have something just as good as a compass leading to Tommy. 

When Wilbur and he had fled Manburg, they’d gone underground to avoid detection. But Tommy had enough torches to barely light up a hole, and no weapons to defend himself. He could craft a wooden sword, but he’d have to make a crafting table first, and a sword wasn’t worth much without a shield, and for that he’d need iron… Tommy groaned. 

He stopped in front of a small river than ran through the plains. His arms and face were still covered in soot from the explosions, and his feet were covered in mud and leaves. A quick rinse wouldn’t hurt, and if Dream was somehow tracking his scent, it might throw him off. 

Tommy splashed the water over his face and almost slapped himself in shock. The water was warm. Unusually warm. He stuck his hand back in the stream and let himself feel the temperature this time. It felt like a potion that’d been left out in the sun for too long, not a cold creek like it should have. Tommy glanced around, searching the bank for something unusual. 

Following the river upstream, Tommy kept his eyes peeled for… something. He wasn’t sure was could cause something like this. Eventually, the river widened into a lake, and Tommy stopped at a tiny beach. His stomach rolled, partially from hunger and partially from the feeling of sand under his toes. 

The lake seemed to stretch on for miles, and Tommy suspected it might actually be a bay that connected to an ocean further away. How far had he travelled to have reached a new ocean? What caught his eye, however, were the stone brick buildings rising from the water.

Tommy had been exploring for years before settling down in Lmanburg, and he had never seen a structure quite like this one. He’d seen his fare share of ocean ruins, of course, but they were all hidden deep in the ocean, tucked away behind coral reefs and icebergs. 

He waded across the river to the other shore, relishing the warm water around his tired muscles. The magma that was normally trapped under ruins must have heated the shallow water. Whatever it was, Tommy was grateful.

While a majority of the ruins were still underwater, Tommy counted three buildings that were at least partially on solid ground. He approached the first and scanned the area for a chest. Nothing. Tommy sighed- this was going to be a lot harder without a shovel. 

He started scooping sand and gravel away with his hands, searching for something harder underneath. Even though the biome was still cold, the warm water around him heated up the area and made him sweat. Just another layer of grime he’d have to wash off.

Tommy’s knuckles hit wood, and he scrambled to clear away the spot he was digging at. There, in all its wonderful glory, was a heavily rotting chest. Flinging the top open, Tommy’s eyes searched the contents hungrily. There, sitting at the top, was a stone axe. He could have cried from happiness if he wasn’t so dehydrated. 

Tommy pulled the axe out and inspected the quality. Somehow, the chest had protected everything inside, the the handle was barely worn. The blade had a few nicks in it, like someone had used it to cut down a single tree and left it abandoned in a chest for hundreds of years. Whoever had used it was long dead, and it was Tommy’s to keep. 

The bottom of the chest was filled with scattered coal and wheat. Somehow, the wheat was as fresh as if it had been harvested minutes ago. Tommy grabbed the bundles and inspected them for mold or rot, but some magic had been placed on them to keep them fresh. He wasn’t exactly happy to eat old-as-dirt bread, but it was better than starving to death. 

Crafting some of the torches into coal before he forgot, Tommy searched the other two ruins. They were mostly a repeat of the first, excluding the iron axe. He almost missed a scattering of golden nuggets underneath everything else. Tommy almost left them there, gold wasn’t going to do him much good, but he grabbed them anyways. 

With a stone axe in his hotbar, and wheat ready to be crafted into bread, Tommy readied himself for another long day of travel. He kicked the sand and gravel around to cover his tracks, and headed away from Lmanburg. 

He let his thoughts wander as his feet moved him across the world. Tommy would need to put another few days of travel between Dream and himself before he felt comfortable leaving any sort of permanent mark. No villages, no shelters, no nothing. He hadn’t made it this far just to get dragged back to Logstedshire like a fucking runaway kid. No fucking way. 

By the time the sun had started to set, Tommy had reached the edge of the plains biome and was looking at a desert void of anything but cacti and dead bushes. Working quickly, he built a crafting table in the sand and worked his wheat into loaves of bread. Once he was done, Tommy picked up the crafting table and shifted the evidence of his work under the sand. After a few minutes, it blended into the other dunes. Tommy sighed with relief. Thank god for sand and gravity.

Tommy took a chunk of a loaf with his teeth and set off again, feeling more energized than ever, even though the food had hit his stomach yet. The feeling of satisfaction, knowing that he could get away from Dream without a trace, that kept him going. 

Whoever described deserts as hot, Tommy decided, was a fucking liar. The dunes gave less protection from the wind than the plains did, and the biome seemed to suck all the heat out of the air as soon as the sun set. 

Tommy tucked his arms around his torso and pressed on. He might have been able to get away with hiding some sawdust and splinters in the sand, but there was no way he could cover up his tracks if he built a base. Tommy couldn’t even tell if he was being over-paranoid anymore, Dream had done a lot crazier things than track a teenager into the wilderness. He thought back to the stories Sapnap used to tell him about the team’s adventures, back when him and Tommy were still friends. How Dream would make it all the way to the End while avoiding them, his crazy strategies that seemed to come out of nowhere. That was Tommy’s enemy, the smartest person on the sever. If Tommy was going to survive, just paranoid wouldn’t be enough.

With those thoughts racing through his head, Tommy hadn’t realized he’d been clenching his hands until he felt his forearm spasm. He relaxed his arm and tried to shake himself out of it. Tommy needed to be on alert for the nighttime. 

There were plenty of husks scattered around his view, but they seemed to have a worse sense of smell than normal zombies. It was almost too easy for him to slip by unseen. To be fair, Tommy was covered in enough dust and dirt that he probably blended in.

The monotony of walking was only broken up by Tommy periodically checking the compass to make sure he was walking in the right direction. He felt almost detached from the item he used to consider his most prized possession. The engraving on the side seemed to mock him; Tubbo wasn’t his anymore, and Tommy certainly wasn’t his. Whatever claim he had on their friendship ended when Tubbo exiled him. Dream may have been a lying, manipulative bitch, but he couldn’t fake the fact that Tubbo hadn’t visited him once. 

The sun slowly crept up the horizon, turning the once cold desert into what felt almost like the Nether. Thankfully, there were no pits of lava for Tommy to throw himself into. If it had made his aching feet hurt less, he may have considered it. 

Whatever desperation Tommy had felt on that tower was gone now, replaced by burning spite. He might not want to live, but it felt like everyone on the sever wanted him dead, so goddammit he’d prove them wrong. Even if he suffered through this desert for days on end, he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. 

Tommy shoved the compass back in his pocket and kept trudging through the desert. By now, the sun was high in the sky, and he could feel the water being sucked out of his body. Tommy was certain he had never sweat more, and he regretted not taking that bath earlier in the river. Without it, his sweat and the dirt caked on his skin were mixing into a sticky slosh that was not comfortable. He remembered Techno talking about pigs when they were younger, how they would roll in mud to protect their skin from the sun, and wondered if it was actually helping him.

While his bare feet had been helpful in the dark forest, Tommy was really regretting not having shoes now. The sand had heated up to an ungodly temperature, and the soles of his feet were blistered and burned, not to mention extremely sore from walking for day. He glanced down and noticed a few spots of blood by his ankle. That couldn’t be good.

With nothing to do but keep going, Tommy ignored the pain and kept walking. He must have been awake for over a day now, right? Tommy remembered pulling all-nighters with Tubbo, joking and talking for hours until they realized the sun was coming up. It was a far cry from the sleepless nights he’d had since Pogtopia. He didn’t feel tired, really. Maybe staying up was better in the long run.

The desert slowly turned into rolling hills, sand to gravel, sandstone to andesite and granite. Tommy was eternally grateful for the cool stone on his feet, but after a few steps, noticed a problem. His feet were bleeding enough to leave prints.

Shit.

Tommy crouched and rubbed away as much of the blood as his could, ripping a piece of his shirt off to help. The red sleeve blended too well. After removing as much of the prints as he could, Tommy crawled over to a lone tree, careful of his feet. 

He had a few string in his inventory from dead spiders he’d met along the way and was able to grab a few leaves from one of the tree’s lower hanging branches. Tommy would have preferred leather or wool, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and a rotting corpse of an animal would be a dead giveaway. He would have to make do.

Wrapping the leaves around his feet, he wound the string to keep them in place. It was crude and would probably only last for a day, but he had no other options. 

Tommy hopped to his feet and tested out his new shoes on the stone. No more blood. He would just have to hope Dream never found the prints.

Just to be safe, Tommy abandoned his straight path away from Lmanburg and headed slightly diagonally. In the long run, he’d lose some distance, but he couldn’t be predictable if Dream was chasing him. 

Ender, Tommy was tired. 

The high elevation seemed to pull the air out of his lungs, and every step felt like he couldn’t take another. Would it be so bad to find somewhere to sleep?

The thin atmosphere cooled quickly as the the sun started to dip in the sky. Was this Tommy’s third night without sleep?

His vision swam. He could close his eyes and keep walking, right? Blind people could do it- he just needed a few minutes to rest.

Tommy felt the ground drop from below his feet. Somewhere deep in his mind, he thought he should be worried, but his limbs felt heavy, and his head felt filled with cotton.

Just a few minutes…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for the first chapter! I've got a bunch more written in chunks, so it shouldn't be too long between updates. If there's enough interest, I might make a schedule. No idea how long this will be, but I'm at 14,000 words already, so stay posted. Thanks <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t keep surviving like this. If it weren’t for luck, Tommy would have been dead ten times over by now. As terrified as he was of Dream, if the bitch hadn’t found him by now, it might be safe to stop at a village. He needed to sleep in an actual bed, and he needed food, even if it was just scraps from begging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how are we all feeling with the recent lore developments? I was this close to crying, but I think I'm still emotionally drained from WandaVision. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

A familiar groan woke Tommy, and he was already fumbling for his axe before his eyes were open. 

The zombie was only a foot away from Tommy, its silhouette outlined by the moon. Tommy was on the ground, somehow, and he couldn’t get his feet under him. His hands grabbed the axe handle out of his hotbar and swung.

Tommy heard a squish and felt his axe stop. It was embedded in the zombie’s abdomen, almost splitting it in half. He yanked it out, almost falling backwards from the momentum.

The zombie collapsed, whatever magic that gave it life again was gone. Tommy sucked in a breath. What just happened?

He stood up, a bit shaky from the adrenaline, and realized he was in a shallow cave. The wall was just a few meters behind him, the entrance just as close. 

Tommy walked out of the cave and stared at his surroundings. He must have fallen into the cave. Tommy wanted to smack himself- he easily could have died, and he never should have stopped in the first place.  _ Stupid. _

The moon hung low in the sky, and for a second, Tommy thought he had slept almost the whole night. But wait- that was east, the moon was rising. He definitely slept more than a few minutes, his whole body felt stiff from staying on the cave floor for too long.

_ I slept a whole twenty-four hours _ , Tommy realized.

Ender, he was a fucking idiot. 

As if on queue, Tommy felt his stomach seize. He felt the pain radiate up through his throat, hollow and cold. He hadn’t eaten since the desert, had he?

Tommy grabbed a loaf from his inventory and practically inhaled the thing. Fuck, it was stale, but Tommy couldn’t care less. He checked the item count- only two left.

He couldn’t keep surviving like this. If it weren’t for luck, Tommy would have been dead ten times over by now. As terrified as he was of Dream, if the bitch hadn’t found him by now, it might be safe to stop at a village. He needed to sleep in an actual bed, and he needed food, even if it was just scraps from begging.

Tommy’s stomach clenched again, and he doubled over in pain.  _ Fucking hell, that hurt.  _ He tried to sit up and relieve the sudden pressure on his abdomen, but another wave of pain hit him. Tommy groaned, too nauseated to think.

The cold stone under his head gave him some semblance of relief, but it felt like someone was rooting through his stomach.

_ Just breathe, Tommy. _

Tommy internally cursed the voice in his head that sounded way too much like Phil. If it was that easy, he’d just fucking breathe and get over whatever the hell this was.

_ Breathe. _

Oh, fuck off. Tommy counted his breaths, trying to time them with the waves of pain. He really didn’t want to throw up, not after just eating a third of his food.

Shit, he must have eaten too fast, right? Tommy barely remembered what life was like before living with Phil, but he could still feel the same cramping feeling in his nightmares. Before Techno came to help them in Pogtopia, Tommy knew Wilbur had been giving him part of his rations and lying about. He’d found Wilbur curled up in his bed too many times for it to be “just a stomach bug, Tommy.”

He missed Wilbur. Missed him so much it hurt just as badly as his stomach. He kept ignoring it, pretended like Ghostbur was an acceptable substitute, and went on his way. He played the role of vice president again, messed around with Tubbo, and when it wasn’t enough to keep him from thinking, he robbed George.

_ Dirty crime boy,  _ Tommy thought bitterly. It was the exact same thing he’d do with Wilbur- mess around with some people and laugh their asses off about it later. Except this time he’d gone and roped someone else into it and gotten everyone in trouble. 

Another wave of pain. His stomach cramped.

He hadn’t meant to burn down George’s house. Tommy quite liked George, actually, when he wasn’t being a bitch.

And then Dream and Tubbo went and kicked him out of the only place that had ever really felt like home, kicked him out of the nation that he built with his brother. 

_ Maybe Wilbur was right. Maybe L’manburg was gone the moment Eret betrayed them. _

Phil had told him about Wilbur’s dramatic monologue before his death. Even when he was a crazy son of a bitch, he had to go and make it a show. Tommy had shouted at Phil, tore up his newly built house, and ignored anything he had to say. But now, cold and in pain on a lonely mountain, Tommy could do nothing but remember. 

Something about that moment in the Final Control room broke Wilbur, and the exile scattered the pieces. Tommy wondered if he was already on the same path. What else could Tubbo’s actions be considered as other than betrayal? 

Phil may have been the one to stab Wilbur, but he would have died one way or another that day. Stabbed himself, ran at a wither, attacked Dream- anything. He was a dead man walking. And hadn’t Tommy been in the same place just a few days ago on top of that tower?

Tubbo’s words echoed through his head.  _ If I can’t be the next Schlatt, you can’t be the next Wilbur. _

They did a great job with that, didn’t they?

Slowly, Tommy felt the pain in his stomach ease. He placed a hand underneath himself and sat up. 

The sun had already risen, revealing Tommy’s surroundings. He was on the edge of the mountain biome, a river beneath him, and another plain ahead. It was as good a place as any to find a village. 

Tommy felt liked the whole of his body had been hollowed out, stripped of anything but flesh and an instinctual need to survive. What was he even trying to do? What future was there for him outside of L’manburg?

_ Just give up and let Dream find you,  _ someone said. Was it Tommy? He couldn’t see anyone around him, the sun had overexposed the world around him.

Despite the words rattling inside his head, Tommy felt his feet carry him forward and forward. He could feel grass under his feet through the bandages, and he was pretty sure he could see trees in the side of his vision. Ender, it was fucking bright.

With his body on autopilot, Tommy felt his mind wandering to other things as he walked. It was going to be Christmas, soon, right? He wondered if Tubbo had already gotten him something before exile.

When was the last time he had celebrated? A year ago… where was he a year ago? Tommy couldn’t remember if Wilbur and he had already left home to travel. If they hadn’t, Phil and Techno certainly hadn’t been there to celebrate. 

Tommy wondered when life had taken a turn for the worst. Maybe it wasn’t when Eret betrayed them, maybe it was when they showed up in the SMP. Maybe Tommy should have listened to Wilbur, should have kept following him instead of settling down in Dream’s territory. It was his fault Wilbur died, right? If he’d just shut up and did what Wilbur told him, they would have moved on far, far away from this fucking place. His brother would be alive, and they wouldn’t have had to bother Techno while he was competing in tournaments, and Phil wouldn’t have to look at Ghostbur with those sad eyes, and, oh Ender, he’d ruined everything, hadn’t he?

Dream was right. Dream was right, and Tommy had left, had made it worse. Dream was going to kill him, and Tommy would deserve it. He needed to turn around, Ender, what the fuck was he thinking? 

A hand clamped down on Tommy’s shoulder and he shuddered in relief.  _ Dream was here.  _ He could pay for his mistakes, and Dream would take him back, and all would be right in the world.

Tommy opened his eyes, expecting dark purple armor and a quartz mask. Instead, he was greeted with an unfamiliar face.

A man was standing over him, blocking Tommy’s view of the sun, and he was waving his other hand in front of Tommy’s face. The man’s mouth was moving, and it took a few seconds for Tommy’s senses to come back to him.

Whatever the man was saying was gibberish, a jumble of sounds that Tommy couldn’t even begin to decipher.

“I can’t understand you,” Tommy mumbled. It felt like his mouth was stuffed with wool.

The man lifted his head, looking at something behind Tommy and gesturing towards himself like he was beckoning someone over. A woman replaced him, crouching a meter away from where Tommy was. Oh, he was on the ground. When did that happen?

“Can you hear me?” The woman asked. She had an unfamiliar accent, and her words were stilted. 

Tommy simply nodded.

“What’s your name, son?” 

Alarm bells rang in Tommy’s head. Did these people know Dream? Were they looking for him? He said nothing.

The woman started speaking again, but in the same gibberish the man had. Tommy’s head was swimming. Was he going insane finally?

“I need you to look at me.”

Tommy realized he had closed his eyes and opened them. The woman was looking at him again, her hand tilting his chin so she could look in his eyes. When had she reached out?

“I’m going to splash a-” she stopped, frowning, “a- a drink on you, okay?” The woman mimed throwing something down.

Tommy didn’t understand what she was talking about, but he nodded anyways.

He heard the sound of breaking glass and smelled a sickly sweet aroma fill the air. Tommy gagged. He’d used too many regeneration potions for the smell to ever be pleasant again. Even so, he could feel the potion taking effect, sinking into his skin and forcing his cells to stitch themselves back together.

Tommy took in a deep breath, his lungs shuddering from the effort. His fingers felt like they were on fire. He was suddenly aware of how hungry he was and how empty his stomach felt. 

A piece of bread was pushed into his hands, and Tommy took a bite without thinking.  _ Well, if it was poisoned, it was too late.  _ He ate another piece, conscious of his speed this time.

“We need to move you, alright?” The woman said.

Tommy nodded and stood up. The people around him- when did they all get here?- all reached for him while making noises of surprise. Tommy could barely feel his feet through the potion’s effects, but he kept standing anyways. No way in hell was he letting any of them carry him.

The villagers seemed frozen in shock, their arms held out to catch a body that wasn’t falling.

“Just let me lean on a shoulder,” Tommy mumbled. 

The woman said something he couldn’t understand again, and Tommy finally recognized that it was a foreign language. How far away from the SMP was he?

The man Tommy first saw offered Tommy his arm, and Tommy took it gladly. He wasn’t a kid, but he was not about to fucking face plant in front of some strangers. The man turned him around, and Tommy got his first glance at the village he’d stumbled upon.

It was nestled right on the edge of a river separating the plains from a forest, but despite that, it had grown quite large. Tommy could spot a blacksmith’s building behind a fairly large house and the tower of a church next to it. It seemed Tommy had fallen beside a farm on the edge of the village, and considering the man supporting him was covered in dirt, he’d probably seen Tommy collapse in the middle of working.

Tommy almost laughed. What a sight that must have been. A random kid covered in ash with no shoes just dropping right in front of him.

They walked further into the village, passing by a few curious faces. Tommy spotted a mother pushing her child back into a house. He didn’t blame her, he probably looked like hell walking.

The man lead him into the doors of the church, past the pews and into a back room with a bed and a sink. A cleric was waiting there, bustling around with his arms full of bandages and the like.

Tommy sat on the bed and let go of the man’s arm. The rest of the villagers had gone somewhere else, excluding the woman who seemed to be his translator. 

“What’s your name?” she asked again. 

Tommy shook his head.

The woman frowned. “I’m Gloria, this is Jack and Father Brown. We’re just here to help.”

“Why?” Tommy asked.

“Why what?”

Tommy’s head was still spinning. “Why are you helping me?”

Gloria said something in her language to the cleric before turning back to Tommy. “Why wouldn’t we? You’re an injured child, we aren’t cruel people.”

“I’m not a fucking child.”

“It’s been many years since I’ve spoken your language, but I still recognize profanity. I suggest you watch your language in the church, son.”

Tommy could almost hear Bad yelling, “Language!”

“I’ll do what I want,” Tommy said, but made a mental note to keep the cursing to a minimum.

“Father Brown wants to bandage your feet and any other injuries if you’ll let him.” The cleric must have recognized his name and stepped forward with a smile. There were a multitude of potions attached to his belt, and he already had strips of cloth cut and bundled in his hands. 

Tommy shrugged. “Sure. It’s just my feet.” That was a blatant lie. Tommy could feel the burns on his chest scabbing over as they spoke, and he was surely covered in cuts and bruises on his arms and legs. But he was fine, the potion would take care of them eventually.

Father Brown kneeled in front of him and unwrapped the leaves and string on Tommy’s feet. The leaves were dead and dry by now, practically dust, and his feet were still slowly seeping blood from the blisters. Father Brown uncorked another splash regen potion and dabbed it on his soles.

Tommy looked away and let the cleric work, more interested in the people that helped him and the place they were in.

“Was Jack the person that found me?” he asked Gloria.

She nodded. “He says you stumbled your way towards his farm for a few seconds before you collapsed. He thought you were a zombie at first, even with the sun out.”

Tommy looked down at his hands and arms. The soot covering him in a thin layer did give him a ghostly look, and his clothes were torn and battered from days of travel. He’d never mistaken a player for a zombie before though, not when the undead had glassy white eyes, rotting flesh, and exposed ribs.

“That’s pleasant,” Tommy muttered.

Gloria winced. “He means no… no-”

“Insult?”

“Yes. He means no insult, merely that he was worried you were too late to save.” She handed him back the piece of bread he’d eaten earlier. “How long have you gone without food?”

Tommy took a small bite. “I have food.”

“Certainly not enough.”

“I’m travelling. Food can be hard to come by.” Tommy flinched as the cleric started to wrap his feet in bandages.

Gloria put her hands on her hips. “You aren’t wearing shoes, and you came down from a mountain I know for a fact has animals.” 

“What’s with the fucking interrogation?” 

“We are trying to help you!”

Tommy shot to his feet, almost kicking the cleric. “Maybe I don’t want your help!” 

Jack took that moment to reenter the room, and Tommy could have hit himself for not noticing the man leave in the first place. He was holding a pair of boots that looked to be about Tommy’s size, a backpack, and a few carrots.

Gloria looked terrified, and the cleric had pressed himself into the farthest wall of the room. Tommy was confused until he realized he’d pulled his axe out of his hotbar and was gripping it tightly.

“Shit,” he said under his breath, and switched hotbar slots. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

Gloria took the items out of Jack’s hands and set them on the ground. “Be thankful I am a patient woman. Others will not be so kind to you. If you really want to leave, take your things and go, but do not come back when you are desperate again,” she snapped.

The villagers left the room.

_ Fuck.  _

Tommy was the biggest fucking idiot to ever exist. Dammit, why did he ever open his mouth? He knew not to talk to back, Dream had drilled it into his head day one of exile.  _ You leave for a couple of days and think you’re big man shit, again, huh?  _

He grabbed the items off the floor and peeked into the backpack. It was stuffed with bandages, food, and other supplies. Tommy slipped the boots on and laced them up. He left the carrots on the sink.

No one else was in the church when he snuck out, and the other villagers still avoided him as he made his way to the other side of the village. Soon enough, he was walking on his own again.

Why had he even considered finding a village in the first place? Tommy was toxic. He knew this, and he kept forcing himself on people. He was a fucking parasite.

The best thing he could do right now was to walk as far away from the village as possible and leave everyone alone. There was a reason he was exiled, Tubbo had to keep the people safe, safe from him and his destructive habits. And if Dream wasn’t here to hold Tommy to that, he’d have to do it himself.

Hitching his backpack further up on his shoulders, Tommy set a brisk pace forward. Soon, he’d be dead to the world, exactly the way he wanted it. Soon, he’d be nothing but a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments really help me out, whether they're constructive criticism or just a simple <3, so let me know what you thought.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mining alone gave Tommy lots of time to think, and he thought he’d finally figured out why Dream was so dangerous, so terrifying. L’manburg had tried to win its independence through fighting, but they should have known it was a lost cause from the start. You couldn’t win against Dream, it just wasn’t possible. He was always ten steps ahead, fully kitted with items Tommy could only dream of finding. No, the only way to survive was to run and hide, escape to live another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check the tags for warnings, they've been updated a bit! This chapter is slightly shorter than the others, but I'd rather have the story flow than meet a word count, so I hope you enjoy it still!

_ Two days later… _

Tommy’s arms ached from the repeated motion of digging his pickaxe into one block of stone after another. He’d been down in the newly created strip mine for hours, desperately searching for resources to make up for the things Dream had blown up. 

Thankfully, he was already at full iron with a diamond pickaxe. It probably wasn’t smart, but Tommy was itching to get the Nether. Without a brewing stand, he would be able to make any potions, and there was no way he would win a fight right now without the help of magic. 

Mining alone gave Tommy lots of time to think, and he thought he’d finally figured out why Dream was so dangerous, so terrifying. L’manburg had tried to win its independence through fighting, but they should have known it was a lost cause from the start. You couldn’t win against Dream, it just wasn’t possible. He was always ten steps ahead, fully kitted with items Tommy could only dream of finding. No, the only way to survive was to run and hide, escape to live another day. 

It didn’t matter if Tommy was still in his fully enchanted netherite armor back in L’manburg, he still wouldn’t win. He would never win. So, he set his goals on surviving. Stockpiling potions of resistance, healing, swiftness, invisibility, and any others he could get his hands on would be crucial. Even if Dream never found him, Tommy never wanted to be in a position of weakness again. There were other people just like him in the world, waiting to pounce on those below them. People like Schlatt. People like Technoblade. People like Wilbur.

The rhythmic feeling on mining turned his arms to mush, and Tommy let it happen. He’d never felt more sore in his life, even after respawning, but if he stopped to rest he didn’t think he’d ever get up.

His inventory filled with coal, iron, gold, lapis, and the occasional diamond until he couldn’t fit anything more. On the walk back up to the surface, Tommy kept his hand on the items, paranoid he’d drop some along the way. He couldn’t afford to lose anything.

Tommy hopped up the final step and blinked away the bright sunlight. It was almost noon, and the forest he was in was sparse, barely giving any shelter from the sun. He glanced down at his arms. Tommy never bothered to find a river close by to wash himself in, opting rather to head straight into the mines. At this point, the combination of stone dust, soot, and dirt had created a layer protecting his skin. Maybe it was for the better- at least he wouldn’t get sunburnt.

He’d been purposely ignoring his hair. In exile, it started to grow out, turning into waves that almost reached past his chin. Tommy hadn’t bothered to cut it, what was the point when the only person to see him was Dream? Now, it was matted to his skull, filled with little twigs, leaves, and dirt. Tommy figured he would have to cut it all off, but it was a problem for another day.

Right now, he needed to go to the Nether. 

Tommy threw his iron ore in the furnace and gnawed on an apple while he waited for it to smelt. He was still living off the food the village had given him, considering he barely needed to eat much in a day. Before exile, Tommy could remember scarfing down steak and golden carrots like they were candy. Wilbur always teased him about it.  _ When will you be done with puberty?  _ he’d joke,  _ You’re going to end up eating all our supplies in one day.  _

Now, Tommy felt sick if he had more than a piece of bread and some fruit in a day. His stomach turned at the smell of meat, for some reason. Tommy remembered Mushroom Henry. He promptly wished he hadn’t.

It was fine- he was fine. 

Tommy grabbed four iron ingots and crafted them into a bucket and flint and steel. He made his way over to the small stream that snaked its way through the trees and scooped up the cold water. The layer of grime on his hands didn’t even budge.

It was easy to find a lava pool when the trees nearby had gone ablaze and created a beacon of smoke for Tommy to follow. The lava looked shallow but wide enough to hold a portal, and that was all Tommy cared about.

He let muscle memory take over, alternating lava and water in his bucket until a frame of black obsidian stared back at him. If Tommy focused, he’d probably be able to see his reflection in the shiny rock. 

Instead of dawdling, Tommy lit the portal and stepped in. The purple particles surrounded him with a familiar warmth, and he was whisked away into the Nether.

Ender, it was fucking hot.  _ Has it always been this suffocating?  _ Tommy thought. The portal spawned in a little cove of netherrack that opened up onto a large section of Nether wastes. If he squinted, Tommy thought he might be able to see a few trees in the distance.

Tommy equipped his shield and sword and started forward. He tried to remember the tips Phil had taught him.  _ Trade with the piglins for fire pots.  _ Right, that was where he needed to start. He pulled out a few gold ingots and held them in plain sight.

The landscape expanded as he walked, and sure enough, there was a warped forest on the other side of a huge lava lake. No sign of a fortress or a bastion, though.

A few curious piglins approached Tommy, and he tossed them each a gold ingot. While they were distracted, he dug out the netherrack below them and trapped them in the hole.  _ If only Techno were this stupid. _

They threw him trash at first, crying obsidian and some of the neon fungi that spotted the nether forests. Slowly but surely, a few more piglins joined, and Tommy had a stack of ender pearls and three fire resistance potions- one splash and two normal.

Tommy set off in the opposite direction of the warped forest. The lava lake was huge, and he couldn’t see a good way to navigate it without wasting hundreds of blocks and risking his life. So, he wrapped around the mountain his portal was embedded in and kept his eyes peeled.

After a few hours of walking, Tommy was almost ready to give up. This had to be one of the worst nether spawns he’d ever seen. Either that, or the nether fortress was just outside of his vision across the lava lake. 

His armor was digging into his skin, leaving red marks and blisters. It had been forever since he’d actually worn a chest plate, and there was barely any fat left on his body to cushion the hard iron. On top of that, the blisters on the bottom of his feet seemed to be reopening after walking thousands of blocks. This place really was a fucking hellscape.

“That’s it, I’m turning around,” Tommy declared to the few zombie piglins around him. Their dead eyes stared at him.

“Alright, fine, just a little farther.” Was he fake arguing with mobs that couldn’t even understand him? Ender, he was a loser.

The heat of the nether made his vision swim, like wax melting on a candle. It probably wasn’t smart for him to be in here for much longer. Tommy vaguely remembered Phil telling him the story of how he met Techno, and how he’d been in the nether for days on end. Then again, he was probably wearing enchanted armor and had gapples on him. Whatever.

Someone above must have taken pity on him, because Tommy spotted the angular shape of a tower appearing out of the dark fog.  _ Finally. _

He trudged through a small patch of soul sand and tried to ignore the cries of the damned that followed him. Thankfully, they were never loud enough to say anything coherent. Tommy had asked Techno if his voices sounded similar, but he’d just shook his head and moved on. After the tower, Tommy thought he understood a little better.

A branch of the fortress started right at the edge of the soul sand valley, so Tommy climbed onto the bricks and started the hunt for a blaze spawner. It seemed he’d entered the wrong side, judging by the chests and hellish amounts of wither skeletons. He kept his shield up and timed his swings, avoiding any hits by the nasty mobs. 

Nether fortresses were a piece of cake. Tommy had raided hundreds before, in fact, he’d be willing to bet he could do it with his eyes closed. Potions always needed restocking, and Tommy had proven himself as a much better combat partner than Wilbur even as a kid. 

Soon, the ceiling opened up and the nether fortress expanded over a lava lake, and Tommy approached a dead end spawner. Perfect. There were crimson vines hanging from the walls, but he slashed through them with his sword. He placed some dirt to hide behind and waited for the blazes. 

Three spawned at once, and Tommy jumped into action. Attack, block, attack, block. He’d perfected the rhythm. Tommy only managed to grab one blaze rod before the bodies disappeared, but he’d taken no damage. Slow and steady.

Another wave. Tommy swung. Another rod. 

After a few minutes of stifling heat, Tommy had eight blaze rods and only a few minor burns on his arms. That’d be enough for a whole chest of potions, but Tommy just kept going. The fortress was so far away, he might as well get as many as possible.

Three blazes sparked into existence. Just as Tommy was about to rush in, he heard a low snort behind him. Before he could turn, a giant mass rammed him into the wall.

_ Fuck.  _ Tommy could feel his head radiate pain where it slammed into the bricks. Instinct made him hold his shield over his body, and he felt fireballs slam into the wood.

He blinked the dizziness out of his eyes to see the hoglin rearing up for another attack. A hit from those tusks may break his shield, and Tommy needed it to protect from the blazes.  _ Fucking fuck.  _ He couldn’t catch a break, huh?

Just as the hoglin moved forward, Tommy flung himself to the side. He meant to position himself closer to the exit while keeping his back away from the blazes, but he overshot his trajectory slightly.

Tommy felt himself dash over the barrier separating the tower from the open air. He could only watch as his hands failed to grab onto the edge, and then he was falling.

On instinct, Tommy’s hands moved to his hotbar and grabbed the splash potion of fire resistance. He smashed the bottle on his chestplate, sending shards of glass into his hands. A second later, he hit the lava.

It felt like he hit concrete from ten stories up, but Tommy was alive, and he had a very sudden and new urge to keep it that way. 

Tommy crawled upwards through the oppressive hit. The potion effect was centered around his chest, and if he stayed in the lava long enough, he’d definitely burn his hands and feet.

His head broke through the crust of dried magma above. Tommy sucked in a breath. The pressure of the lava felt like it was sucking the air out of his throat before it made it to his lungs. 

Tommy could feel his brain and body separating again. His arms were moving without him thinking, carrying him to the shore. If he closed his eyes, it almost felt like someone was pulling him along. Fucking hell, how long had it been since he’d touched someone?

A sharp edge dug into his arms, and Tommy realized he was climbing onto a gravel shore. He pulled himself out, swatted the large chunks of magma off his legs, and collapsed on the ground. 

He should really move. There could be more hoglins around, or angry piglins. But Tommy couldn’t make himself move- whatever had been powering him through the lava was gone, and he was too trapped in his mind to do anything about it.

Ender, it felt like he still couldn’t breathe. Did he damage his lungs somehow? Tommy curled in on himself, shaking. Why couldn’t he move?  _ Oh fuck, why can’t I move?  _

Tommy’s muscles started to tense without his control, shaking with the effort. He could hear himself hyperventilating over the sound of blood in his ears. Shit, was he poisoned or something? He hadn’t eaten anything from the nether. What was happening to him?

Despite the chaos his body his body was undergoing, Tommy was still able to think clearly enough to panic. Ender, it was like he was trapped. What if he was trapped? Would he starve to death in the Nether, his body decaying until it came food for the hoglins?

The tightness on his chest changed- instead of an outside pressure, it felt like his heart had become a vacuum and was sucking his ribs inwards. Despite how hard he tried to expand his lungs, his body fought against him, pulling his skin and his tendons further and further towards his center.

Starting in his fingertips and toes, tingles made their way up his limbs, bringing numbness after them. It felt like mini fireworks under his skin, sparkling and exploding. He couldn’t move his fingers anymore.

Pain shot through his legs, wrapping around his calves and up through his thighs. Fucking  _ fuck,  _ that hurt. At least the pain was familiar- he’d strained his calf muscles from the tensing. Tommy tried to point his toes to extend the muscles, but he could barely move enough to make a difference. He was stuck in pain like this until he could move.

_ If you can move again,  _ a little voice whispered.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tommy managed to bite out, and it filled him with a little bit of hope. It sounded a bit weird considering his cheeks had gone numb as well.

His throat hurt, rubbed raw from the intense breathing. His legs hurt. His chest hurt. Everything hurt, and Tommy just wanted to cry until he passed out. But the panic kept swirling through his veins, kept infesting his neurons, and Tommy stayed awake.

Slowly, and Ender was it slowly, Tommy’s breathing slowed down, and the feeling returned to his body. The shaking turned into shivers, and he was finally able to stretch out his legs.

Tommy sat up with a groan. His fire resistance potion had long since worn off, and the tiny bits of lava still left on his skin had already burned through and left spots. How had he not felt that?

He flexed his fingers, relishing the feeling of… well, feeling again. Ender, that was weird. Had the potion been brewed wrong? Tommy had never come across a piglin that couldn’t make a fire resistance potion in their sleep, and it hadn’t smelled wrong when he splashed it. 

Tommy got to his feet and immediately fell back down. His legs had just collapsed under him, still weak. 

“You got to be fucking kidding me.”

He tried again, slowly putting pressure on his poor muscles. Ender, all Tommy wanted to do right now was sleep, and he was at least a hundred blocks from his base. 

With exhaustion pulling at his eyelids, Tommy grabbed some obsidian he’d traded with the piglins earlier and formed it into a crude nether portal. Thankfully, he still had his flint and steel on him.

Tommy stumbled through the portal and almost ran head first into a tree. Now that he was in the overworld, it would probably take days to walk back to the little base he’d set up. What had he left behind? A few furnaces, a bed? Whatever. It didn’t matter, because he was about to pass out here anyways.

He curled up on the ground, back to the obsidian. The heat from the portal seeped through the blocks. Ender, he was so fucking tired.

With the sun high in the sky, Tommyinnit fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy's panic attack (although he doesn't know what that is yet) is modeled exactly like my own panic attacks, so yay for mental illness accuracy in the mcyt fandom! Everyone has different attacks, so please don't think this is the blueprint for every panic attack ever, just my experiences. Anyways, thanks for all the kind comments! We just hit 200 kudos which is crazy, and I'm thankful for the support. I like to check my notifs in the morning to start my day off nice, so leave a little love <3\. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ender, he was bored. When had he last spoken to someone that wasn’t a voice in his head? Ah, right, when he snapped at the nice village lady. When had he last spoken to someone without pissing them off? Before his exile, surely. He’d annoyed Techno, upset Jack off, and definitely angered Dream. 
> 
> Tommy pressed his lips together. At least there was no one to get angry at out here, just the animals. He scuffed his feet on the ground, kicking at some branch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole reason this chapter is coming out today is because I got some lovely comments that practically forced me into inspiration, so thanks to everyone that's left some love on this fic! You all help more than you know :) 
> 
> Warnings for a bit of graphic injury, if you want to skip it, don't read from "Tommy opened his mouth to scream" to "He flexed his fingers."
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Tommy woke up with the moon. His legs felt like he’d run a marathon, and his back was stiff from leaning on hard obsidian all night.

He stood up, using the portal to support his shaky muscles. The dark cover of night hadn’t quite covered the world yet, and Tommy could see the forest surrounding him in the dusk.

Well, shit. 

His iron armor and shield would be enough to keep him alive through the night, but it didn’t mean it would be fun. Tommy almost considered building a new base by the portal but shuddered at the thought. He’d be too easy to track.

_ And it’d be so easy to walk back into that lava. _

Tommy hit the side of his head. “Shut the fuck up.”

The voice didn’t respond.

Tommy systematically worked his way through the forest, slashing through skeletons and zombies. He’d taken off his iron boots to keep his tracks light and moved in irregular paths, zig-zag-ing his way down hills and over streams.

The compass sat in his inventory, abandoned. Tommy didn’t need it anymore, really. He was far enough away from L’manburg that any direction was still thousands of blocks from any he knew. He’d taken it off his neck at some point in the mines, tired of the weight. It was just a useless hunk of metal now. Tubbo didn’t even have his anymore.

Tommy wondered if Dream had been telling the truth about that. He hadn’t always lied. It was the truth when he said his friends didn’t care anymore. It was the truth when he said the server was better off without him.

Even if Tubbo did have his compass, all it would lead him to were the ruins of Logstedshire, a lodestone leading to a graveyard. Tommy wondered if Dream had told everyone that he’d run away yet.

Tommy forced himself to think about something else. It didn’t help to get stuck in the past- that’s how Wilbur died, really.

Fucking hell, he was bad at this.

The stars! The stars were pretty! He stared through the canopy of leaves and gazed at the twinkling lights. Tommy used to know what some of them were called, considering Techno wouldn’t shut up about all the mythology heroes they were named after. Prick. 

Soon enough the stars were replaced with clouds, and Tommy had nothing left to look at except for the walk ahead of him.

Ender, he was bored. When had he last spoken to someone that wasn’t a voice in his head? Ah, right, when he snapped at the nice village lady. When had he last spoken to someone without pissing them off? Before his exile, surely. He’d annoyed Techno, upset Jack off, and  _ definitely  _ angered Dream. 

Tommy pressed his lips together. At least there was no one to get angry at out here, just the animals. He scuffed his feet on the ground, kicking at some branch.

Unfortunately, Tommy was realistic enough to know he’d have to live fairly close to a village. He’d like nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and never leave, but he definitely didn’t know how to live on his own. Sure, he could craft crude iron armor and kill nearby animals for food, but there was no way he’d make it without villager trades.

It took fucking  _ forever  _ to make an arrow by hand, and there was no way in hell Tommy was fighting creepers without a bow. And they’d have crops Tommy could buy so he wouldn’t have to spend all his time hunting cows. Tommy really regretted not letting Techno teach him how to farm potatoes. 

Besides, as much as Tommy was glad he couldn’t hurt his friends anymore, he was starting to feel really lonely. Like, talk the air kind of lonely.

So, he kept his eyes peeled for another plains biome and trudged on. 

Tommy never really enjoyed the silence. If people were silent, it meant they weren’t having fun, and if Tommy had to make a joke at the expense of his pride to keep people happy, so be it. Unfortunately, it seemed to have backfired, and all of a sudden the whole of the SMP thought he was annoying and had him exiled. Figures.

Wilbur was the only one who really knew how smart Tommy could be. 

Tommy remembered that night, how the L’manburg revolutionaries had sat around a campfire singing songs the night before battle. And when someone mentioned the horrors of war to come, Tommy was quick to bring up something else. He was pretty sure he’d gotten his arm stuck in a bowstring at some point. 

Wilbur was quiet that night, never really joining into the conversation. When the others berated Tommy for his crude jokes, Wilbur’s eyes focused on him across the fire. He’d pulled him aside after everyone else was asleep.

“I know what you’re doing,” Wilbur had said.

And Tommy had brushed him off and called him paranoid (and how ironic that was now). 

But Wilbur held him by the shoulders and forced Tommy to lock eyes with him, and Tommy was forced to drop his act.

“You’re smarter than anyone gives you credit for, Tommy. You’ll be a fine vice president.”

And then Wilbur had gone and blown everything up and died, and Tommy felt alone for the first time in years. Sure, he had Tubbo, but he was busy being president and didn’t have time to mess around with Tommy anymore. So Tommy had dragged poor Ranboo into his pranks and somehow burned down George’s house, and Ender, he’d never regretted anything more in his life.

Tommy didn’t think Wilbur would call him smart anymore.

The sun rose, illuminating the outline of a village on the horizon, and Tommy let out a sigh he felt like he’d been holding for days. 

He kept a far enough distance that no one would be able to see him unless they were looking and skirted around the village. Tommy spotted a spruce forest in the distance and headed towards it. He’d be half a days walk away from the village. Perfect.

The sun was already past its crest by the time Tommy was walking under spruce leaves. The undergrowth was full of berry bushes and downed trees, perfect for hiding a little hovel in. 

Tommy’s pulled his axe out of his hotbar and went to work on chopping up a tree. He was sure to gather the fallen leaves and saplings into his inventory. The fewer people that knew he was here, the better. 

He placed his crafting table down and turned the logs in planks, and those into a door. Working quickly, he shifted some dirt blocks around to create a doorway reminiscent of his home in the SMP. It was the only way he knew how to build a house, really.

The door blended in the the forest floor, conveniently hilly enough to avoid any suspicion. Tommy walked around it in a circle, sure to check every angle. Unless you knew what you were looking for, most people would just walk by.

Tommy opened the door and dug out a small room behind it, big enough to fit a bed, crafting table, furnace, chest, and a few miscellaneous blocks. It was even smaller than his old home, but he was the only person that’d be seeing it. 

It was odd feeling, Tommy realized. His actions didn’t hold any weight anymore. In L’manburg, it felt like everyone was watching his every move, waiting for him to make a mistake. Fucking  _ Dream  _ had followed him for hours just to find a couple of fucking music discs. Now, he could do whatever he wanted.

Tommy could burn down his own house every night and rebuild it, and no one would be the wiser. He could fill a cave with cobblestone dicks. He could grow his hair out and braid it like Technoblade. Maybe he’d wear a cape to complete the look. 

He could die and no one would know.

Holy fucking hell,  _ he could die and no one would know. _ He wouldn’t die a hero’s death, he’d croak in the middle of fucking no where and his body would be food for the wolves. 

Tommy slammed his door shut and sat on the ground with his head in his hands. 

He was nothing anymore. Nothing he did from now on would ever matter to anyone he cared about. Ender, how was he supposed to live like this?

His throat started to hurt, and Tommy realized he was hyperventilating again. What the fuck was wrong with him now?

Tommy felt like he was floating, and he desperately pulled at his hair to try and ground himself. His hands started to go numb, and oh Ender, it was all happening too fast- Ender fucking  _ dammit  _ why couldn’t he breathe?

There were no torches in his dirt hole, so Tommy was left to stare into the dark void while he felt himself detach from his body for the seconds time that day.

He was shaking like a leaf, but Tommy couldn’t bring himself to stop it, much less care. Honestly, if he passed out in the dirt, he might consider it a blessing. He was hollow, scooped out and tossed out at Dream’s feet for him to play with, and there was nothing left for Tommy.

Tommy opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Instead, his hands migrated to his arms and dirty fingernails dug into his skin. He couldn’t even feel what he was doing. 

His brain conjured up an image of his nails digging deep enough into his arms so that blood started seeping out and fuck, he could feel his muscles under his fingers. Ender fuck Tommy couldn’t feel his hands, he could be killing himself. He could be killing himself.  _ He could be killing himself. _

His mind latched on, dreaming up scenarios of blood draining out of his nose, his head slammed into obsidian hard enough so Tommy could see his skull, his skin covered in weeping burns, stumps where legs used to be, his skin peeling strip by strip.

Tommy gagged, dry heaving onto the ground, but there was nothing in his stomach to come up. He didn’t know whether to be thankful or not.

He flexed his fingers, able to feel them again, and released their tight hold on his arms. Tommy held his breath as he rubbed them together, searching for the familiar feeling of blood on skin.

Nothing. He wasn’t dying.

His breath shuddered and Tommy was crying, sobbing into his arms. He wanted a hug. He wanted someone to wrap their arm around his shoulder and tell him his was okay, but the only person he could feel was himself. 

It was his fault, really. It wasn’t healthy to keep bottling up his emotions, and Tommy knew there would come a day that he’d breakdown, but he was really hoping it would have been with someone by his side. 

Eventually, Tommy was able to grab a torch from his inventory and place it in front of him. He glanced at his arms. There were red half-moons on his forearms, but they didn’t seem to be bleeding. Tommy figured they’d fade in a day or so. It didn’t feel right- he’d thought he was dying, and really, he had nothing to show for it.

He stood up and opened the door. Night had already fallen, so Tommy grabbed his drafting table and headed back inside. He placed it down alongside a furnace and chest. Home. Luckily, he had enough wool from killing sheep to craft a simple bed.

He’d have to figure out what was wrong with him eventually, Tommy figured. Normal people didn’t act like he did. But for now, all he wanted to do was forget about it. It could be a problem for tomorrow Tommy, and wasn’t that the same mindset that got him into all this in the first place.

Dream was right. He would never change. Tommy was stuck like he was, broken and annoying, and entirely alone.

Suddenly, Tommy couldn’t sleep. He had been exhausted seconds ago, but his leg wouldn’t stop twitching and his mind was wide awake. Sighing, he sat up and merely set his spawn point.

He scanned his inventory for something to do and spotted the blaze rods that had given him so many problems. May as well make a brewing stand now.

Tommy funneled the rest of his items into the chest, useless things like flowers and sand. He could almost hear Tubbo argue with him.  _ They’re not useless, Tommy,  _ he’d say,  _ you need flowers for bees!  _ Ghostbur had said Tubbo was building an apiary in L’manburg. Tommy shoved the flowers to the bottom.

He sat in front of the crafting table and grabbed three cobblestone and one of the rods. Tommy snorted, remembering the hours he spent stealing brewing stands and potions from people for the drug van. Ender, he’d been just a stupid little kid following around Wilbur like a lost puppy. 

The recipe was easy now, ingrained in Tommy’s head forever. In minutes, he’d embedded the rod in the cobble so it stood straight up, and he wrapped iron around the top to hold the bottles.

Tommy grabbed some stone and grinded another rod into some blaze power, and he fed it into the brewing stand. It gurgled to life, glowing just slightly to the trained eye. 

He didn’t have ghast tears for regen, and he certainly didn’t have golden carrots for invisibility, so Tommy would have to make due with swiftness and strength. Ender knew he had a few blaze rods to use for powder.

Tommy grabbed some sugar cane out of his chest that he’d grabbed at some point in his trip and turned it into sugar. He was about to put it into the brewing stand before he realized he’d forgotten the water bottles. Fucking hell, he needed to smelt some sand. So much for useless, huh?

He shoved some blocks into the furnace and waited for it to turn to glass that he crafted into bottles. Tommy grabbed a few and headed out into the night. He was probably being a little reckless, considering all his weapons were close range, but Tommy didn’t think he could stay still right now.

Thankfully, there was a stream fairly close to his house that he could quickly fill the bottles with. A zombie or two wandered their way over, but Tommy took care of them easily with his iron sword. 

Back inside his house, Tommy attached the water bottles to the brewing stand and put a nether wart in the rod. He never quite understood this step, considering the potions looked exactly the same afterwards, but Wilbur swore by it. He even called them “awkward potions” like the nerd he was. 

After the nether wart was fully diluted, Tommy put in the sugar. It trickled into the bottles like sand in an hourglass but dissolved in the water to create a light blue tint. He grabbed the potions and pocketed them.

Tommy grinded some more blaze powder and fed it into the stand, this time as an ingredient instead of power. The potions turned the iconic blood red shade of strength potions, and Tommy put those in his inventory as well.

He’d head into the village eventually and trade for some carrots. Converting them into their golden counterparts was costly, especially since Tommy had all of three gold ingots, but invisibility would be one of the few ways he could escape Dream. The green bitch would have to be a madman to have followed Tommy all the way out here, but Tommy would bet his discs that Dream wasn’t really sane anymore.

There’d been days when Tommy first arrived where he considered Dream his friend. He’d even sided with him on a few conflicts. Tommy could never understand what made Dream do what he did- what  _ really  _ motivated him.

Dream had even kicked him out when he first showed up, but Tommy kept walking back, inventory empty but a wide smile on his face, and Dream let him him back in. Ender, Tommy wished he had just left. He’d ignored all the signs and walked straight into the lion’s den like a fucking idiot.

With the potions in his inventory, Tommy only had a few spots open. He frowned, scanning his items for anything he didn’t need. His eyes caught on the compass.

Tommy grabbed it and placed it on his palm. The needle spun till it faced the lodestone in L’manburg. Ghostbur never told him where in the city it was, but Tommy liked to imagine it was somewhere nice, like Tubbo’s apiary or Party Island. 

It was useless, really. Tommy knew the coordinates of L’manburg, if he ever wanted to return, but he wasn’t really planning on it. It wasn’t like Dream would let him. Tommy ran a finger over the engraving.  _ Your Tubbo.  _

Tommy shoved the compass into his chest. It was just taking up a slot. He sorted through the rest of his inventory, throwing some unsmelted ores into the furnace and turning logs into planks. 

It felt like he was a kid again, all of his earthly possessions crammed into thirty-six squares. Tommy didn’t remember much from when he was younger- Wilbur told him he was lucky- but his muscles remembered the survival skills. It was probably the only reason he was alive at this point. 

When Ghostbur came back and Tommy learned about his memory loss, he didn’t quite understand why Ghostbur remembered some things and forgot others. According to the ghost, he remembered his death, something Tommy wouldn’t consider happy by any stretch of the imagination, but he had no recollection of meeting Tommy. 

That Tommy was naive. He thought memories were made and hung up like photos on the wall, covered by a pane of glass- to be observed but not changed. He had few bad memories, Eret’s betrayal, the loss of his discs, Wilbur’s death, but they were dwarfed by the good. Everything could be rebuilt, he learned. So how was it that Ghostbur had forgotten so much?

And then Tommy was exiled, and his good memories were shattered and tainted by the actions of the future. He couldn’t think about pretty sunsets by the bench without remembering Tubbo’s cruel face as he ordered Tommy out of L’manburg. Tommy couldn’t remember Jschlatt as his childhood friend without hearing his slurred commands. Tommy couldn’t recall meeting Wilbur without seeing TNT in his hands.

If Tommy died (and he did not want to think about that) and came back as a ghost, he didn’t think he’d remember much of anything.

Tommy stumbled over to his bed, the sudden burst of energy that kept him up finally gone. He could see the start of a sunrise peeking under his door, but he didn’t let that stop him from closing his eyes and drifting off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped the graphic scene, it was just a paragraph of Tommy imagining himself horribly injured. Nothing actually happens! 
> 
> I don't think I've ever planned out a fic this much, I've got a whole timeline with documented time skips and everything. I even made a table of contents; I feel so fancy :) . Anyways, I hope you all liked this chapter, I'm still debating on how far to skip ahead for the next chapter. Would you all like a larger skip with the plot a bit more condensed, or more chapters with a bit of a slower plot? Let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy groaned, rolling over in his bed and stuffing his face in his arms. He’d added a window once he realized he’d sleep through the day without the sun to wake him up. It was weird- even in Pogtopia, Tommy always woke at the crack of dawn. Techno complained about it all the time, but Tommy always felt like he had too much energy to stay asleep for long. Now, he was almost afraid he’d go to bed one night and simply never wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update! Between midterms and the canon content we've gotten lately, I didn't have a lot of time to write. That should change now that I'm on spring break! Thanks for sticking with me on this, and I hope you like the chapter :)

_ Five days later… _

Tommy was running out of supplies. He’d killed most of the animals near his house, his shoes were almost scrap already, and he still didn’t have arrows for his bow. 

He’d been avoiding the village for as long as possible, but he was going to have to suck it up an go anyway.

Tommy groaned, rolling over in his bed and stuffing his face in his arms. He’d added a window once he realized he’d sleep through the day without the sun to wake him up. It was weird- even in Pogtopia, Tommy always woke at the crack of dawn. Techno complained about it all the time, but Tommy always felt like he had too much energy to stay asleep for long. Now, he was almost afraid he’d go to bed one night and simply never wake up.

After a few minutes of drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, Tommy admitted defeat and got out of bed. His little dirt hole hadn’t changed much over the past few days, just the addition of a staircase into his strip mine. He’d gone through iron pickaxe after iron pickaxe until he had enough diamonds for a full set of armor and weapons. Tommy didn’t think he’d be able to relax fully until he had netherite, but he wasn’t planning on going back to the Nether for a long time. 

Tommy kept the diamond armor in his inventory and just wore an old iron chestplate. He didn’t want to scare the villagers off, but there was no way he was going in without protection. If he was lucky, the chestplate would stop a first attack, and Tommy would have time to suit up. 

He meticulously checked his supplies. All the potions were in his inventory, one of each type in his hotbar. He had an open space for his hand to look less intimidating, but the others were filled with a shield and weaponry. Tommy had enough food for the journey three times over, just in case he needed to take a detour before returning home. 

Tommy still didn’t feel safe, but he couldn’t change that in the next day, and he really needed to head to the village now.

The door shut behind him, and Tommy started the trek through the spruce forest. He’d gotten used to the silence more and more. Now, he could appreciate the tiny cracks of twigs made by rabbits on the forest floor, and the rustle of pine needles when the wind hit them just right. From what Tommy could remember, he’d always lived near people and buildings. 

It was hard for Tommy to recall what life used to be like before he met Wilbur. Tommy knew he’d had parents at some point, but life had happened and Tommy grew up wandering the streets of random cities on public servers. Wilbur had shown up, played a song on his guitar, and disappeared. It would take months for Tommy to run into him again, but they just kept meeting each other, like two planets on a orbit heading for collision.

Life was a whirlwind after Wilbur. He never could stay still, always jumping from one project to the next. Tommy followed him across worlds, quickly growing up as he coasted on Wilbur’s waves. 

Wilbur was not made for quiet forests and empty plains. He shone in front of a crowd, whether he was singing or speaking. Wilbur was made for cities, for  _ ruling _ those cities, and because Tommy would follow Wilbur anywhere, Tommy thought he was made for that too.

But Tommy found he enjoyed the silence much more than he used to. 

His walk through the spruce forest was pleasant, the sunlight dappling the brown pine needles on the ground. They were perfect for masking footsteps, and Tommy found he could navigate the area around his home almost silently. The animals didn’t run when he passed by.

Soon enough, the forest turned into a open space, and Tommy approached the village. It was smaller than most he encountered on his travels, and as soon as he was close enough, the villagers nearby stopped their work and stared at him. Tommy tried to ignore them.

He headed to the blacksmith’s, eyes straight ahead. The forge was quiet, but a villager stood inside, cleaning some sort of machinery. When they heard Tommy enter, they straightened up and put a smile on their face.

“Can I help you?” The blacksmith’s eyes roamed over Tommy’s figure. Their accent was almost indecipherable, but Tommy was just glad they spoke the same language. 

Tommy opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. It had been days since he last spoke, and his throat didn’t seem to be cooperating with him. He slapped his chest and coughed.

“Bit of a sore throat?” The blacksmith asked.

Tommy nodded, not able to explain why his voice had simply given up on him.

“Well that’s alright. I assume you’re here to trade? We don’t get too many travellers, so my stock is limited, but just find what you want.” They gestured to the stock on shelves around them.

Tommy pulled out his iron and coal instead and held them out.

“Ah, I see!” The blacksmith inspected Tommy’s offerings. “I can give you, let’s say, seven emeralds for those.”

_ Bullshit,  _ Tommy thought. He raised and eyebrow and pointed upwards.

“I can easily go and get some coal myself, son, the most this is worth is nine emeralds.”

Tommy nodded and gestured for the villager to take the goods. He did so, grumbling as he pulled out his emeralds and counted out nine. 

The villager handed him the gems. “Are you planning to stay for long?”

Tommy tensed, caught himself, and shrugged. The blacksmith didn’t seem to notice his uncomfort, merely humming and inspecting the iron ingots.

“Well, come back if you have anything more.”

Tommy left the forge a richer man, ready to blow it all in minutes. He was actually smart with his money, but he’d been going way too long without proper supplies and was desperate for some sense of normalcy.

The villagers still glanced at him as he walked by, but they seemed to have accepted his presence. Tommy wondered how accurate the blacksmith’s comment about travellers was. To him, it seemed like they didn’t get  _ anyone _ to visit.

The leatherworker was at his cauldrons when Tommy stopped by. He pointed at a pair of shoes in the window and the villager simply held out his hand and said, “Three emeralds.” A minute later, Tommy had new shoes and was on the move again. 

The fletcher was the exact opposite. Tommy entered her shop which seemed to double as her home, and she immediately greeted him with a smile and, “Welcome!”

Tommy tried to smile back, but it felt more like a grimace. He pointed to the bundles of arrows behind her and showed and emerald.

“Oh poor thing, can you not talk?”

Tommy did not like the fletcher. He really,  _ really  _ wanted to flip her off, but he needed those arrows. So, instead, he dropped his smile, shook his head, and pointed at the arrows again.

The fletcher grabbed a bundle. “Is this what you want, sweetheart?”

_ No, idiot, I’ve just been pointing at a fucking wall for no reason. _

Tommy nodded and gestured to his emerald.

“For you? I couldn’t charge you, you look like a breeze could blow you over! Are your parents feeding you enough?”

It was becoming harder and harder for Tommy to keep his anger in check, but the allure of free arrows kept him calm on the surface. He shrugged and hunched over slightly, playing up the part of “starving child” that the fletcher seemed so desperate to help.

“Oh darling, you get those to your dad and tell your mom to make you a rich dinner tonight.” The fletcher passed him the arrows.

For a woman herself, she seemed pretty fucking sexist. Tommy knew for a fact that Phil made better soup than anyone else he knew, and Drista scared him shitless more than Dream did. 

Tommy headed out of the shop, one last stop left. He had spotted a couple of farms on his way in, but half of them were probably growing something shitty like beetroots or potatoes. He was a growing man, and growing men needed something better than shitty vegetables. 

He approached a farm filled with wheat stalks and stomped his foot on the ground to get the farmer’s attention. Tommy waved around an emerald and pointed at the crops.

“Uh, hello?”

Tommy rolled his eyes, gave a curt wave, and then repeated his previous actions.

“Are you alright, son?”

Ender, some people were fucking stupid. Tommy grabbed a bundle of harvested wheat by the the farmer’s feet and shoved the emerald in his hand. He probably could have bartered for two bundles, but his stupid fucking voice wasn’t working, and the villager was practically  _ radiating  _ idiocy.

The farmer called something as Tommy walked away, but he toned it out. Whatever it was, it wasn’t worth his time.

Tommy was too busy fuming about his situation that he practically tripped over the next villager. They were crouched over the ground, hands deep in dirt, and Tommy had been focusing on the horizon. He practically kneed the guy in the face before falling on his ass. Fucking  _ great. _

“Shit, mate, are you alright?” Oh Ender, the guy’s accent was exactly like Tubbo’s, all pompous with drawn-out vowels from growing up down south. Tommy froze, sprawled out on the ground with his arms keeping him up.

The farmer rubbed his head where Tommy hit him. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Tommy opened his mouth, and for the second time that day, nothing came out. 

_ Good,  _ that sick little voice whispered,  _ then you can’t push them away like you did to Tubbo.  _

Tommy was going to be sick. He was going to throw up all over this poor farmer who didn’t ask to be caught up in Tommy’s shit, and they were gonna think he was crazy, and-

“Genuinely, are you okay? You’ve gone all pale?” The villager’s voice drew Tommy out of his spiral, but he still hated how a small part of him wished it was Tubbo he was speaking to. He wished Tubbo was asking him if he was okay.

Tommy slowly nodded and pulled himself to his feet. The villager kept his eyes locked on Tommy’s concern written all over his gaze. 

They were standing in the middle of a carrot farm, and wasn’t that just Tommy’s luck, he needed to trade with this guy.

Tommy picked up a handful of carrots and pulled another emerald out of his hotbar. The farmer seemed to understand his intentions, and for whatever reason, didn’t respond with words. Instead, he grabbed a few more carrots and piled them in Tommy’s arms before taking the emerald. He pointed to the harvest around them and held up two fingers.

_ Ah, he’s asking if I want more,  _ Tommy realized. He probably had over twenty carrots, plenty for a couple of invisibility potions, but golden carrots were a great source of food, and he had some emeralds to spare. Tommy nodded.

The farmer scooped up some more carrots and put them into a burlap bag he’d had tied to his belt. Then, he held out the bag so Tommy could shove the rest of the carrots inside. Tommy handed him an emerald for the bag.

The whole interaction had unbalanced Tommy more than falling had. He felt even more confused when the farmer touched his fingers to his chin and then moved them away. He accompanied it with a grin, friendly and open. The gesture looked like second-nature to the villager, and Tommy wondered if it was a regional way of saying goodbye, even if the other villagers hadn’t done so.

Tommy replicated the hand movement, hoped it was acceptable, and moved on. As he left, he glanced back, but the farmer had already resumed his task.

He let his body take over to trade for watermelon, allowing his brain to wander. It probably wasn’t healthy, this odd separation of physical and mental, but Tommy couldn’t really help it.

He’d done everything he needed today without speaking. He’d even had a positive interaction with that carrot farmer, even if he didn’t quite understand why. Tommy didn’t need to talk. In fact, he was probably better off staying silent. The people around him smiled- he hadn’t driven them away.

Tommy thought back to the woman in the church at that last village. She wouldn’t have hated him if he hadn’t said anything. Maybe he would have stayed there. He could have avoided that Ender awful visit to the Nether.

It was better this way.

Tommy thanked whatever kept his mouth shut that day and wished it had done so years ago. What other things could he have avoided by not speaking? What things were his fault because he just couldn’t stop talking?

His feet had already started moving him back towards the base by the time he returned to his senses. Inventory full of supplies, Tommy felt a sliver of hope for the future. Maybe, just maybe, he could do this.

The forest was just as quiet as normal, but Tommy relished the tiny sounds he could catch. He glanced up at the sky, noting the sun was hours away from setting. Spontaneously, Tommy dug his feet into the trunk of a tree and started to climb.

Sap stuck to his palms and bark scraped his shins to shit, but Tommy lifted himself onto a large branch that hung at least six meters over the ground. He could see the tops of some of the shorter trees, and it was easier to scope out the forest from this height. But instead of focusing on that, Tommy closed his eyes and leaned back onto the tree’s trunk.

The air seemed clearer up here, almost thinner, and the miniscule sounds of nature rang in Tommy’s ears like bells. An fox scampered across the ground, and Tommy could almost see it in his mind’s eye. Little paws with footsteps muffled by the underbrush, and reddish fur that painfully reminded him of Fundy. It ran underneath Tommy’s tree, unaware of the person listening above. Weirdly enough, that made Tommy feel proud. 

He focused his senses farther outwards. The stream that ran by Tommy’s base gurgled as it ran over rocks and fallen branches. The hundreds of animals that lived in this forest probably drank from its cold stream. 

Tommy dug his hands into the tree branch and imagined the roots that must have spread out farther underground than the tree itself. Did they also grow in search for water, or was the rain enough? 

He must have spent almost an hour in the tree listening to the sounds around him. Tommy, not once in his life, had taken the time to stop and reflect like this. Life was better lived in the fast lane. If every inch of time wasn’t full of excitement and chaos, it was wasted, or at least that’s what he used to think. Now, Tommy felt exhausted just thinking about it.

Had he really enjoyed living like that, or was he just worried everything would catch up to him if he stopped moving?

Tommy slipped out of the tree, managing to cut up his hands on the way down, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He felt great, almost numb to what was happening around him. Weeks and weeks of pain, and Tommy was finally feeling better.

The little hole in the ground that Tommy called home was just as he left it. He emptied his supplies into his chest and tucked the emeralds deep in the bottom in case someone tried to rob him.

The sun was setting by the time Tommy finished, so he collapsed on his bed, drained but calmer than he’d been in recent memory. He let the numbness take over, hollow the pain out of him, and Tommy smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy: haha, I don't feel sad anymore, I must be getting better!  
> Me: *insert john cena meme* ArE yOu SuRe AbOuT tHaT?
> 
> In all seriousness, I know how deceptive the ups and downs of mental health can be, but Tommy doesn't yet!   
> Anyways, if you all wanna listen to what I have been to write this, check out Will Wood / Will Wood and the Tapeworms, especially Cotard's Solution. I've been listening to their stuff on repeat for a week now, and I think I've properly fixated on it.
> 
> I'm considering writing for Ranboo's fic contest (once I come up with an idea) so I might delay and update for this story to do that, but I'll post it here on Ao3 for y'all to read. Thanks for the support, and I'll see you soon <3


End file.
